I'm Twisted Up
by Fuzzball457
Summary: Tag to 5x18: Danny returns with more than just a few bruises, but Steve isn't going anywhere anytime soon.


**Ohhh boy. Here we go. I'm sure this idea has been used and abused at this point, but while re-watching this episode I couldn't put the plot bunny down. What can I say, he's a cuddly bugger. Hopefully my attempt feels fresh enough.**

 **Obviously TRIGGER WARNINGS for rape. I'm not trying to spring this on anyone as a twist, I don't want anyone upset by what they read. So discretion, okay guys? I tried to keep it in character and I apologize if anyone feel's this is an unrealistic representation of rape aftermath, but I feel like it's a different experience for everyone. I'm certainly not trying to say everything is hunky-dory after this, but I'm a sucker for an 'everything is shit, but there's hope' kind of ending.**

 **So FACTY THINGS - AU end to 5x18, obviously, and title comes from Semi-Automatic by Twenty One Pilots which is a complete mismatch in tone to this piece, but the lyrics felt good. McDanno if you want, not McDanno if you don't. Whatevs.**

 **I don't own H5-0 or 21P.**

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 **I'm Twisted Up**

Steve was trying to be as patient as he could, given the present situation. If there was one thing he'd learned from five years of friendship, it was that Danny was an independent person and likely wouldn't take kindly to another grown man coming to check on him in the shower.

And yet…

It'd been almost an hour since the shower had come on. He was trying to be patient, he really was. Less than twenty-four hours ago, the man had been in a Colombian prison, having the shit beat out of him by corrupted guards. If anyone deserved a long, hot shower, it was Danny.

But what if something was wrong? What if he'd had internal bleeding to go with his fractured ribs? Or what if the supposedly mild concussion was worse than they'd thought? What if he'd passed out from exhaustion? What if?

Steve aggressively ran a hand through his hair. The sun had long since completed its descent, but he found himself hard pressed to move to close the curtains, which remained open from when Danny had opened them the morning of his arrest. The room was bathed in silvery moonlight and held the air of a long, long day.

After their visit with Grace (and Joe's bombshell, which Steve was purposefully ignoring), Danny had insisted he return home without Steve or Grace. The latter Steve understood, even if Grace's crestfallen face when she'd been told she'd be remaining with her mom for the night was hard to bear. It was going to be a rough night and Danny didn't want Grace to see him that way.

But Steve was a Navy SEAL and he'd seen his fair share of traumatized comrades and there was simply no way he was leaving Danny alone to make it through the shit show he was about to face. The ungodly pain of sleeping on fractured ribs (even with the Vicodin Danny had been prescribed that he swore he didn't need but Steve knew he'd take) was enough to crumble any man. When the mental torment was added…it was going to be a long one. And Steve would be here for it if it killed him dammit. The thought of Danny waking up from a nightmare, alone and disoriented, unsure if he was safe or not…it was simply intolerable.

Danny had told him in no uncertain terms to go home while he showered, but Steve had taken up residence on the couch.

He was, however, beginning to think of abandoning his post to check on the aforementioned man.

Steve remembered gripping after Danny turned down the fourteenth place they'd looked at a few years ago, this time due to an "insufficient shower".

"Really, Danny? If it spits water it's sufficient, that's what showers do."

"Maybe to a Neanderthal like you, Steve, but any decent human being who spends more than three minutes at a time in the shower knows a good shower is important."

It was a corner shower, no bath, with olive green and brown tile along the walls and a glass door. Large enough to be comfortable, but small enough not to dominate the space. Steve had only used the thing once or twice, but even he could appreciate great water pressure, especially with refreshingly cool tile to lean your back or head on.

And when he'd gently prodded the already cracked bathroom door open, he'd never been more grateful for the clear glass door. Even fogged from the extended shower, he could see the form of the short detective. His back was to the door with his arms folded together above him and his forehead resting on them, seemingly lacking even the energy to hold it up.

"Danny?" he asked, knocking on the door. On a normal day, Danny would whip around and snarl about Steve's animalistic lack of privacy and general roguish tendencies. But today wasn't normal and the hot-tempered man opposite him didn't so much as flinch. "Danny?" he repeated, slowly advancing across the room. The linoleum was slippery with condensation under his feet. Steve spared a moment's thought for the water bill which he'd surely have to listen to Danny complain about in a month.

"Talk to me, man, what's going on?" He'd reached the shower door and stood frozen a mere three feet away. Was Danny unaware of him or just ignoring him? Which would be better? He whispered, "Danno," in one last plea for any sign of life, then gradually pulled the glass door open, leaving plenty of room for objection. When none was forthcoming, he opened it all the way and leaned in to turn off the water. The water, which was falling mercilessly along Danny's now red back, was hot enough to sting Steve's forearm where it flecked onto him as he reached for the knob.

As he pulled back, having received a free facial from the face full of steam, Steve opened his mouth to try and draw the other man back to earth, but froze. The fingers of his outstretched arm went rigid and curled in like the legs of a dead spider.

He had expected bruises. Danny had told him of the prisoners' and the guards' senseless assaults. The green and purple bruises spanning the planes of his back and curling around his sides, where they undoubtedly continued to the front…they were harsh to see certainly, but not unexpected.

No, it was the two narrow, perfectly symmetrical bruises along the back of each hip bone that sent all sorts of nightmarish assumptions through him. Two or three inches long, a little more than a centimeter wide…

They were from thumbs.

 _Thumbprints._

 _Thumbprints on his partner's hips._

"Danny, he croaked, instead of _please, please tell me it's not what I think._

Steve was not a naïve man, he'd seen his fair share of sordid activities in the Navy. He'd seen the same marks on men who'd been too long without their girlie back home. They were the marks of sex, of being taken from behind.

Steve wasn't one to judge, he'd seen far too much to waste time with such trivialities as sexuality. But a South American prison, alone and afraid, worried about his daughter…it seem doubtful Danny would have engaged in anything… _consensual._

But no, Steve thought as his thoughts swerved back to denial, there had to be another reason. It was an intolerable thought, one whose mere presence was an error of nature.

" _Danno,_ " he whispered as he forced his trembling hand forward, aiming for Danny's red shoulder.

But the second his fingers, ice cold in comparison to Danny's overheated skin, brushed the other man, he violently back to life. The startled man whirled around, fist already preparing for an uppercut, and stopped himself just short as Steve stumbled backwards out of the shower, nearly slipping on the steamy floor.

This was the culmination of nearly a decade of stealth training, Steve thought, as he held himself perfectly still, while Danny's jerky eyes roamed over him. Danny was panting, looking rather animalistic as rivulets of water ran from his hair down his face. The finest of tremors were just discernable along his shoulders and arms. He looked terrified and so brutally unsure that it was painful to watch. This was the look of a man too fresh off something awful, not yet believing a reality where safety existed could be happening.

Steve wanted badly to grab him, to demand answers, to hug him and tell him it's be fine, but he resisted. He crushed those instincts that he'd spent the last few years building and told himself _not this time_.

Finally, with a long exhale, Danny's shoulders dropped and his whispered, "Steve," like it was his last earthly word.

"Yeah, Danny, it's me," he said, hoping his voice didn't come out nearly as shaky as it felt to him. He had to be calm and take his cues from Danny. He couldn't rush in guns blazing on this one. His hand was still hovering awkwardly in the air where it'd been thrown off, a few inches from Danny's shoulder. Danny seemed unwilling, or without the energy, to make the first move. Thankfully his body, free from its steamy cocoon, gave Steve some cues as the other man began to shiver.

"Here." Steve offered him the dark blue towel off the rack. If Danny felt any discomfort or awkwardness at being naked in front of the other man, he kept it well hidden, taking the towel with disinterest and slinging it low around his hips. "Let's, uh…let's sit down," Steve offered, gesturing towards the bed and trying hard to resist touching Danny.

All of his wild energy seemed to have left Danny by the time he got to the bed, where he sunk down as if he'd run a marathon to get to it. He was completely pliant, willing to do as Steve said without protest. It was atypical of the detective and Steve felt the loss of that hot-tempered independence acutely.

Steve gingerly settled himself on the side of the bed, careful not to jostle the bruised body. "Danny," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What…" He was unable to formulate the question, to give voice to such nightmares.

"It wasn't as bad as it looks," Danny mumbled, startling Steve. Perhaps answers wouldn't be as hard to pry out of the other man as he'd thought.

"You mean someone-?" At first he thought he wouldn't get an answer. Danny was lying bonelessly next to him, apparently unconcerned for the puddle he was making on the bedspread, and staring at the cracks in the ceiling as if they held all the answers to the universe's questions.

Finally, on the ghost of a breath, he whispered, "Don't be mad." It was nearly pleading, a small, broken request.

Steve couldn't help it, anger coursed through him, painful and overwhelming. It was such a familiar emotion and so much easier to handle than the vague _sorrowhurtguilt_ mess that had been occupying his chest before.

He sprang off the bed, needing to relieve some of the sudden tension coursing through his muscles. "Don't be mad? How can I not be mad? How can I not be when those _fucking animals_ hurt you like that?" He hadn't felt such anger, such devastating helplessness since he'd witnessed Jenna Kaye's death right before him. It was the same myriad of emotions he'd felt when listening to his father's death all those years ago, the event that had begun it all. It felt like there was an animal caged within him, tenuously close to losing it and unable to settle. His mind slipped into the fritz, unable to process the thoughts. To think of Danny, his brutally sarcastic yet surprisingly just and kind partner, all but tortured, in pain and alone in some strange place, unsure if rescue was coming, senselessly violated…

It felt like Steve had let his friend down in the worst way possible.

"It's not that—"

Steve whipped around, unable to control the fury stewing within. "Don't you dare say it's not that bad," snarled the King of Downplaying. "Seriously, Danny, this is _me_ you're talking to! Don't lie to me! I mean, God, Danny, _what happened?"_

It was Danny's turn to overflow. He flew to his feet, eyes finally blazing with anger and hurt. "Just let it go, Steve! What do you want me to say? That it hurt? That I was scared? What do you fucking think? It happened, it's over with. I'd like to move on!" Danny's anger powered him across the room and out the door, leaving Steve voiceless in his wake.

A reaction, any reaction, was good, Steve reminded himself. He'd pictured more of gentle, shoulder-weeping style outbreak, but anger worked too. It was reassuring to see that the stubborn man hadn't completely given up.

Steve took a deep breath and counted very intentionally to sixty. Just because he didn't buy into all that touchy-feely therapy shit that counselor had spouted at them didn't mean he hadn't picked up a thing or two.

It didn't take very long to track down the wayward man.

He forced himself to walk slowly, making sure his footsteps were clearly audible. This couldn't be a covert-op, it couldn't feel like a personal attack flying out of the darkness.

The silhouette, just discernable in the light spilling out of the back door, stood solitary in the back yard, gazing up at the infinite stars the decorated the sky. It wasn't anything like Steve's beach front property, but the sky was the sky no matter what backyard you looked at it from. That was the beauty of it.

He didn't announce his presence; he didn't need to. He loitered next to Danny, waiting for him to make the first move, staring up at the vastness and wondered what the shorter detective was gleaning from its glory.

Steve was a pushing man. He liked bluntness and force. He hated secrets and manipulation and head games in general. But Danny wasn't like that. He may needle the hell out of Steve for the tiniest details, but his own secrets required gentle and intentional prodding. He was a plan man, only willing to speak when he'd decided exactly what to say.

It was a good few minutes before Danny reached that decision, and Steve was caught off guard by nonsequitur beginning. Danny's voice was hollow, as if he had to dig deep somewhere inside to find the words.

"All I could think about was what if Grace could still hear me on the phone? Which was completely ridiculous because I saw them pull the damn cord…"

"It's completely normal to fixate on—"

"Don't tell me what's fucking normal, Steve," he snapped quietly, "I'm not some traumatized witness you need to interview."

Steve nodded and took the blow softly. He was here as a friend, not a cop. He let the air hang empty, aware that pushing forward on his part would lead to pulling back on Danny's. Sometimes you need somebody and sometimes you need space. Good friends could do both at the same time.

"I just don't want anyone…to, you know, look at me different, or treat me differently. I don't want to _feel_ differently because…because he can't have that, you know? I don't want to give him the power to change me that much. Hasn't he taken enough?"

"Danny," he choked softly, trying to keep his vicious anger at some unnamed Colombian prison guard in check. How could he put it into words? The love and the righteous anger? The pride and the horror? "That man…he didn't… _take_ anything from you. You're still, you know…you." The air was tainted with it, the inadequacy of it all, the injustice of it all. It was a tangible thing, slipping out of Steve's grasp every time he tried to squish it with brute strength.

"Thanks, Steve," he replied flatly, "for always being there to keep track of my masculinity."

"That's not…" But maybe what he meant wasn't what mattered. Maybe Danny was silently carving him an inroad, a little one he'd better not blow past. "Well, yeah, someone's got to do it. I mean, jeez, when was the last time you drove your own car? Be a man, Danno."

"It's not my fault someone has control issues," Danny shot back instantly.

For the briefest of moments, Steve could see it, just under the familiar passion in his eyes, a little spark of gratitude. Or recognition for Steve's efforts.

And really, Danny had laid it out for him. _"Don't treat me differently."_ He'd made only one request and Steve would fulfill it.

"Touché," he offered with a chuckle, turning back to the cosmos. He could feel Danny's gaze lingering on him. Whatever silent inspection happened, Steve seemed to have passed as Danny turned and headed for the house.

"Come on, you Neanderthal, it's freezing."

"Danny," he called just as the shorter man made it to the doorway. He turned back, completely washed out by the backlight from the house.

Uncertainty washed within him for a moment. Was the moment too gone? Would Danny not appreciate being dragged back into the emotional muck? But there was one thing that was still bothering him. He thought back to the car earlier, as he'd dropped Danny off to see his daughter, fresh out of the hospital himself, because that was just the kind of dad he was.

"All that stuff earlier, man…I know how it all went down with Reyes, I know that wasn't sitting right with you. But you didn't deserve this. No one deserves that."

Danny gave him an odd look, something caught between ponderous and unsure. "I'm not going to lie and say it was anything I'd like to experience again any time soon, but…at the end of the day, I've paid for what I did and then some. My slate is clean. And that feels…good?"

"Good?"

"Good."

"Well…good." Steve loitered, even as Danny disappeared into the yellow glow. It was still going to be a long night, but maybe Danny wasn't as bad off as he thought. Maybe with Steve by his side, it'd be turn out okay. Steve nodded to himself and followed inside. He had a partner to nag after all.

And that felt good.

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 **I really struggled with the ending. I'm hoping it doesn't feel too rushed, and like I said above, I'm not trying to say everything is okay, a quick conversation fixes all. Obviously not, rape is complicated, but I think of this as the beginning of a longer road to recovery.**

 **Please, pretty please comment! I have another work in progress (eventually I'll break away from my very set pattern short Danny-whump pieces, but for now...eh) and you guys motivate me so much!**


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